Q is for Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes
by Dragon's Daughter 1980
Summary: Midnight is a fruitful time for reflection.


Q is for Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes?

_And who shall keep watch over the guardians?_

_-Luvenalis_

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

(Written for the 2006 Summer Alphabet Challenge)

Disclaimer: Other than being a devoted fan, I don't have anything to do with Numb3rs.

Author's Note: This story is posted as "Quiet Reflections" at the forum.

* * *

After a long day, it's finally quiet in our darkened home. I'm in my favorite living room chair, my fingers knitting by feel in the dark. Yes, I know it's unusual for anyone to knit in darkness, particular when there's a lamp beside my chair that I can easily flick on. But light generates heat, and trust me, right now, L.A. doesn't need any more heat. In fact, we could probably do with a raging snowstorm right now. And yes, I know that no sane person in L.A. would want a piece of knitted clothing (especially in the summer), but I have family in Seattle and it does get cold up there in the winter. I know you laugh and pretend you don't believe me, but we both know you've been in colder situations before, even though neither of us really wants to think about it. It's in the past, and if I have anything to say about it (which I do), it will remain firmly in your past.

The children are asleep upstairs, somewhat disappointed that you weren't home in time for dinner, but they understand that you'll be here in the morning. You'd better be, or else we'll be having words. I know you'll do your best to stay safe, for our sake, but I also want to make a part of you too afraid to die so that if the worst happens, you have something more than just our love to hang onto. Our neighbors have long retired to their beds. Even though I can't see the clock, judging from the distinct lack of chatter from the houses on our block, I think it's probably around two in the morning. I know you said not to wait up for you when you called home to tell me you would be late, but I can't sleep in this heat so I might as well sit here in the darkness and wait. Besides, you try being five months pregnant with twins and tell me that you can sleep through the night. On second thought, that's never going to happen, so forget I said anything.

As I'm sitting here, waiting for you to come home, I start thinking. I tend to find the dark very conduct to reflecting on life and pondering on its great mysteries. Of course, that might also be because that's the only time I have to sit down and think. All the other minutes of my life are filled with taking care of our daughter and son or spending time with you. I glance out the window, sending a silent prayer up to Heaven that this case is going to turn out okay, that you'll be there in time to save the missing little girl.

I know this latest case that you've been working on with Don and the others has hit you hard. There is no pain worse than knowing a child has died, worse when the death is as senseless and as brutal as this case's victims have suffered. I know that you're in a race against time, since the news has announced that the man has another victim in his hands and it's only a matter of hours before she dies. I know that you have been under a lot of stress because of the nature of this crime, especially since our daughter is about the same age as the man's targets.

You whispered to me last night that you were having doubts again, about whether or not you should stay with the Bureau. It's hard, you told me, trying to stay sane when humanity's insanity surrounds you on a daily basis. It's hard to stay detached sometimes, when the victims are the same age as the kids, or look a little too much like me. It's difficult to laugh and enjoy life when all you can think about are the victims that you couldn't save. You're afraid, you confessed, that you'll end up pushing me and the kids away, trying to protect us from what you see every day.

"Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?" I murmur to myself now, frowning because I think I miscounted a stitch. I don't know why I remember that particular Latin phrase from my Intro to Classics class in college, but it seems to fit the situation perfectly well. You protect us, but who is going to protect you?

I know I comforted you last night, whispered reassurances that it won't happen, that you won't lose us because you love us too much and we love you too much. And I believe my words, but I think you knew that it wasn't the answer you were looking for or the full one that I want to give to you.

The truth is, you are a federal agent. It is in your blood to serve the public and to protect others. It means that you see things that no one should ever have to see in their lifetime, but you do so the rest of us won't have to. You won't leave the Bureau. It is part of who you are: a kind and dedicated man who hides his caring nature under a veneer of manly machismo and gruffness. You have to be tough in your line of work, but you easily drop that protection when you need to.

The other truth is, you are a husband and father. Nothing in the world will ever change your devotion to me or our children. I know that. Our kids know that. We understand when you come home and, without a word, sweep us up in hugs so tight we can barely breathe. We understand when you don't come home on time, or when you're a little late to a soccer game. We understand when you have to leave in the middle of the school play; the kids know that you'll watch the whole video with them as soon as you can. They love that, cuddling up next to you as all of you watch the latest version of "Aesop's Fables." You are a good father. There is no question about that. I know that when they were babies, I would find you cradling them just as they started crying for their midnight meal. I know that some times, when you can't sleep, you will get up and creep into their bedrooms and sit by them, watching them. I know that when they get cuts and scrapes, you "kiss it to make it better." And there is nothing more satisfying in the world for you, I know, than to spend time with us.

But even this answer, I feel, wouldn't reassure you completely. There is something missing, something that makes me feel as if my answer to your fears is incomplete. I know until I find that full answer, your demons won't let you be. As your stubborn, loving wife, I won't stand for that.

I hear your car turning into the driveway, the headlights briefly illuminating the room. I put aside my knitting and get up from the chair. It's quite a maneuver these days, so by the time I am standing up, I hear your car door slam and I hurry to the doorway. I know you say not to wait up for you, but I know that you love it when I meet you at the door. I know that I represent sanctuary from the violence you see at work, refuge from the world, home in every sense of the word. You're just on the other side of the door now and I can still feel my heart give a joyful little skip in my chest. As you unlock the door, I undo the deadbolt, so I pull open the door at the same time you push.

The porch light lets me see that you look tired, but relieved. I don't have to ask to know how the raid went. Today, the score is in favor of the good guys. You hug me tight. Well, perhaps I should say, as tight as you can with the extra load I'm carrying these days. When you let go, I can sense that you're more relaxed now than a few seconds before.

"You should be asleep," you tell me gently, your eyes looking into mine. "You need your rest." There is only concern for me. No shadows. Good, that means you'll sleep tonight.

"Have you eaten dinner yet?" I ask, knowing that chances are you've been running on coffee and snack bars since breakfast this morning. I turn off the porch light.

"No," you sigh and I realize how exhausted you sound. "But I'll eat in the morning." You lock the door and put an arm around my waist, guiding me towards the stairs. You sway a little and I know there's no point in trying to get you to eat. You would probably fall asleep in my lasagna, and tempting as that blackmail opportunity is, you would be better off getting a few hours of sleep under your belt first.

So we go upstairs into our bedroom, undress, and slip underneath the covers. It's so much a part of our routine now that I barely notice the lockbox under our bedside table where you keep your weapon at night. Your pager automatically goes next to the alarm clock and I am tempted to turn both off once you fall asleep. We curl up next to each other in the darkness, my body nestled in your arms. Your breathing quickly deepens and slows, to my relief. It means that you're getting the rest you so desperately need.

I watch you sleep until I feel tired myself. As I close my eyes to join you in dreams, it comes to me. I finally know the answer to the age-old question I was asking myself a few minutes ago and I whisper softly to you, "You protect us from harm, but we are the ones who protect you from the world."


End file.
